On the Outside
by Sabina
Summary: Dealing with the death of a love and a newly forming cynical personality, Vash attempts to fix his life, but has no idea where to start. Now, in Chapter 3, we revisit Vash and the man who had run him down. Who is this guy and why's Vash so angry with him?
1. Disclaimer and Author's Notes

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, nor do I ever intend to own Trigun. I'm pretty happy just writing fanfiction.  
  
Chapter Three - A/N: My God, I've been going through a HELL of a writer's block. I'm posting this in hopes of rekindling some of my own interest. I really want to write this, but nothing is coming out! I wanted to post this after I had another chapter written, but I don't care anymore- I want to post it now. I hope you enjoy this. There's a lot of swearing, including, but not limited to the wonderful "F" word, and a tad of descriptive murder. I'll probably bump up the rating. ::shrugs:: Lastly, enjoy.  
  
-Sabina  
  
Chapter Two - A/N: Okay... so you're gonna wonder what the hell happened. Oh God, I don't know what I would give to see the looks on your faces as you try and wrap your heads around this chapter. Intentional OOCness ho! You'll make sense of it eventually, don't worry. This chapter departs from Vash's troubles and arrives with almost the extreme opposite.  
  
-Sabina  
  
Chapter One - A/N: Yeah... this story has been uploaded before. I decided to take it down due to some problems in the text, so I fixed some of that up. I've also changed the name from "In the Place of Angels" to "On the Outside". I've been suffering some evil, evil writer's block lately and I thought that perhaps if I posted something, I would feel obligated to keep writing. I just need to finish chapter three... -_-; I think one hundred monkeys on typewriters could press chapters out faster than I can. Bah.  
  
End Rant.  
  
-Sabina  
  
Go on, read... 


	2. Chapter One : Decay and Confusion

He looked like a gargoyle perched upon a wall. His cold grimace and crouching stance gave him the air of a stone demon. Even one of little imagination could picture both a sharp, cruel tail jutting out from his spine and a pair of tattered reptilian wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. 

Constantly living in a state of fear and sadness, Vash became merely a darkened shell of his former self. Vash once lived in a time when he was truly happy, but that time had been stolen from him in a manner that was, to Vash, the cruelest way possible. Squelched and replaced by a cold and hard-eyed cynic, Vash no longer felt lighthearted or compassionate toward anything.

Vash hid in his apartment for weeks, occasionally moving from his bed to a chair, or the floor. Never answering the door or even opening the curtains (although, for some reason a small breeze seemed to make them move every so often, letting in thin rays of light to penetrate the darkness), he kept himself completely separated from the world. His self-induced isolation began to take a toll on him days ago, however, he did not recognize that he was not well.

Vash pulled his legs out from under himself and fell onto his hard, boxy bed, sprawling over the rumpled comforter that once lay crisply and neatly. A tear welled up in his eye and spilled down his angular face. A sharp, stabbing pain jolted his heart. An ache was always there, but only when he thought about this did it ever transform into what felt like a searing dagger.

_I miss you -- oh God, I miss you -- I tried and -- I'm sorry -- my fault -- I couldn't help you – I tried -- you know that don't you? -- know that -- know that I loved you -- when he stole you away..._

These thoughts flitted around behind his eyes, unrecognizable. Vash opened his mouth and gasped as an imaginary razor blade cut his heart open yet again. He clenched his eyes tightly into black slits of lashes. 

"He killed her." Startled by the sound of his own voice and the harshness of his words, his heart flew into his throat. More tears escaped his dull eyes and streamed down his cheeks.

Vash sat up once again, his eyes drawn to a mirror across the room where his red trench coat hung in the reflection and his gun holster sat on the table both in front and inside of the mirror. A solid thought flowed through his mind, clearly recognizable and terrifying in its validity: _It could end here._

Vash's face began to lose what color was left in it as he stared soberly at his gun encased in the holster. He extended his legs off of the edge of the bed and slipped into a standing position. The floor was grainy on his bare feet and the edge of the bed scraped his unprotected calves. He stepped slowly towards the mirror, feeling every particle in and on the floor, every small breeze and draft that somehow made it into his isolated habitat and every mental tug the gun heaved.

_It would be best for you. It would be best for the world and everything in it too, _it seemed to whisper delicately in his ears.

Vash's eyes drifted from the gun to the mirror that stood in front of him. A dark, miserable figure peered back. His eyes were sunken and red, hair matted to his scalp, but in places slightly feathery. His body looked weak, despite the muscles that had been forged by over a century of pain, fear and anxiety. His scars looked almost like frustrated, glaring eyes staring back at him. 

He forced himself to look away from his body, away from the harsh gaze of the eyes and his attention focused back to the dull metallic shine that glimmered in the faint light. 

_For the better... of the spiders, _It cooed. 

Vash shuddered as another voice, the voice of his brother, echoed in his head. _You must kill spiders to save butterflies…_

But truly, who was the spider and who was the butterfly? Vash recalled all the lives he had taken, all the cities he had single-handedly destroyed. _July..._ _Auguste_... He caused the deaths of his loves and friends:

He was no butterfly.

He was the _spider..._

Another solitary tear trickled down his cheek and landed as a bead teetering on his lip. His eyelids were heavy and he slammed them shut, pressing out one last tear. 

_You must kill spiders to save butterflies._

Vash's legs began to weaken. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the cold, smooth handle. Carefully removing the weapon from its holster, he held it limply in his hand. It felt heavier than usual…

_I carry the answer to the whole world's troubles. That's why I'm so heavy. I'm so full of… mercy. _A nearly inaudible laugh resounded throughout his mind.

His chest felt as though it burst into flames and he let a ghastly scream escape before hurling the Gun across the room, slamming it upon the wall. 

The Gun was torturing him, playing with him like a child's toy. It let out a shriek of its own as a bullet spewed from its mouth and into the wall to the left of Vash. His eye's darted frantically back and forth from the Gun that lay seemingly dormant to the bullet hole beside him.

Why did you do that, Vash? Haven't you realized that I'm only here to help you? To guide you...

The voice of the Gun was now replaced with Knives' dark tone.

_Kill the spider._

Vash felt lightheaded… It was his brother. The Gun, forged by him, somehow had taken on his personality, his mindset. Was it only now that It decided to show its true self? It didn't seem realistic.

Another cry erupted from Vash's mouth, this one not of terror, but of pain. The sharp razor of thoughts sliced through him again, leaving him kneeling on the floor.

_It's only right._

His brother's voice had seemingly calmed now; a peaceful sigh seemed to emanate from the barrel.

Vash's tired, pained eyes drifted from the grained floorboards to the metallic sheen of his trusty sidekick. Plucking himself off the ground, Vash forced himself to approach the Gun. 

It did not speak to Vash.

It just sat, glinting in the sliver of sunshine that flickered around the drawn curtains.

A hundred thousand thoughts streamed through Vash's mind at once. Even as a Plant, he lacked the intellectual capacity to pick out any one thought, but the overall message was there…

With dull, grey eyes, Vash flicked up the Gun, as he would have a year ago, but instead of pointing it at a bounty hunter he lined it up to his temple.

You _do _kill spiders to save butterflies.

He pulled the trigger.

A quiet burble tumbled out of Vash's mouth as he collapsed to the ground. He lay there, motionless. Frozen? Dead…

Or so he thought.

He thought?

_Dead people can't think_, he thought.

Vash opened his eyes and filled them with the dim light of his room. 

_Dead people have no eyes to open._

He looked around the room. Everything was how he left it. 

_I didn't leave it._

Vash's stomach lurched. The silver Gun had fallen just out of his reach and was in a position that looked as if it were smiling at him.

Grinning…

Smirking…

What had happened?

He should be dead… and yet, he could still see, breathe and move like any other living being. He raised two fingers to his temple. Nothing was out of the ordinary; not a drop of blood had spilled and his brain remained intact.

But why?

_The shot that blasted from the gun earlier was the last in the barrel, _the Gun offered the suggestion faintly, as only the deep recesses of Vash's mind could hear.

_Damn you. _Vash's mind spat as the sound of the Gun's voice returned.

After all those decades Vash spent running from his enemies, fending for himself, that was truly the closest he had ever come to death.

He could smell the decay that hadn't even begun.

Spider… 

A wince shattered his face as the Gun's voice became louder. Vash scrabbled to his feet. With all the force that he could gather, he kicked the Gun under his bed. He fell into a squatting position and held his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Tears streamed from his eyes and welled up in his palms. 

What's going on? Vash thought miserably. Was there no bullet? He reached is hand back up to his temple. He lifted his head again; the glint of the Gun from the right under the edge of the bed caught his eye.

_Come, Spider._

Vash stood and took three strides toward the bed mindlessly before realizing he was even moving. A stab at the heart brought him to a standstill. He ran a hand over his knotted, sweaty hair and paused. Every sound, every little squeak of a door, and every little step on the floor in the entire building: He heard it. The sounds pounded at his mind and behind them all, shrouded by confusion, the bitter, cold voice of his brother called out to him. 

The pit of terror, anger, sorrow and confusion inside of Vash had reached its limit. With a deep, harsh voice, he belted out, "KNIVES! YOU COWARD!!!" and fell to his knees once again. He clutched his chest, heart beating like a mad drummer had taken to it and pressed his eyes shut. Another long wail escaped him, but made not a single word from it.

His head hung back; an expression of torture had taken over his once beautiful face. His forehead had folded into many creases and nose flared out, and his mouth, drawn into a frightful howl. He vision began to fade and he collapsed onto all fours.

_Listen to me, Spider._

"WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU?" Vash bellowed. The word "you" elongated into a fading syllable, faint sobs and eventually silence. Subconsciously, Vash's mind began to wonder whether or not the neighbours could hear his raving. It was no object of thought in his outer mind, seemingly unimportant.

He glanced toward the tattered coat that hung on the rack to his right. Staring sadly at it, he knew what Rem had told him all those years ago had been a lie: Red was the color of blood, suffering, and death. 

_I know best._

"You know nothing…" Vash hissed. "Things… they…" He paused for a moment. He thought of his lover: Shining black hair and those _eyes_… "Things can only get better…" He stared at the floor, unblinking, unmoving. "Because…" His voice drifted for a moment, and a short hiccup followed, "…said so."

The menacing voice of the Gun remained silent.

"I'm sorry that I've failed you yet again…" He whispered. "I'll make it right." 

Vash rose to his feet once again. This time, however, the slashes to his insides dulled and his eyes left the grey mist they had been veiled in, returning to their true aqua colour. He closed his eyes and muttered to himself.

"I'm going to get dressed. And then I'm going to leave this place. And _then_ I'm going to find something to eat." At the thought of food his stomach gurgled. Solemn-faced, he automatically started for his coat, but thought better of it. _Today, I will not be Vash the Stampede,_ he thought and turned around and headed for the dresser. To his left, his empty holster sat on the table in front of the mirror. He glanced into the mirror, looking again at his tired, pained and wet eyes. Vash forced his eyes from their reflection and opened the top drawer of the dresser. 

He rummaged around until he found a suitable pair of underwear- a pair of striped boxers that were relatively new; they had no visible holes in them, unlike all the others that were torn and tattered. Vash also pulled out a pair of dull green pants and a white shirt, pulled them on and ambled out of his room.

The light outside his room temporarily blinded him, as the only light that had entered his room in the past weeks had been slivers of sunshine that made their way around the heavy curtains. The hallway outside of his room was floored with hardwood that reached up to mid-wall. The wood was cracked and worn away from people's feet walking over them continuously. An unexciting yellow paint cracked and peeled away from the walls. Bits and pieces of the chipped paint speckled the corners of the floor. Vash seemed to drift through the hall, until it opened up into the lobby of the hotel. 

Chairs and couches surrounded the few coffee tables in the room, many of which were occupied. Many of these people looked tired and worn out, but some sat fidgeting almost excitedly. To Vash's left there were three tellers, working one booth each. Two of the three tellers were busy with customers and the other was bent over the booth with a bored expression that was somewhat misshapen by the fist that held her head up. Vash paid her no more attention than a passing glance and made his way through the foyer and out the front doors.

Blinded a second time by the bright light of daytime, Vash staggered back a step. He blinked his eyes repeatedly, attempting to adjust them to the burn of the twin suns. As his sight returned he began walking again, to his left. He recalled a small restaurant that was located a few blocks in this direction. 

For the first time in a long while, Vash didn't feel alone, even as he walked down the nearly deserted streets. The warmth of the suns radiated onto him, warming him from inside out. He hadn't felt this way since…

_Eyes… such beautiful eyes… Deep, piercing, and longing. Running hands along a smooth, slender body._

_And now she was gone._

Vash forced his thoughts away from the past. _Find food, eat food._ _That's what I'm out to do. _He scuffled his feet along the dirt path that ran alongside the street, kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. He stared at the pebbles and stones scattered randomly on the path, deep in thought.

_It's always the one's who I get close t-_ OOF! A sudden force knocked him off his feet. Vash collided with the sand and gravel at a fantastic speed, leaving dents of grains in his palms and forearms. "What the fuck?" He craned his neck around, looking over his shoulder at whatever had caused him to lose his balance and topple over. A tall man with short black hair and a black jacket was running in the opposite direction of what Vash had been heading. 

_Nicholas!? _The first thought that flashed through Vash's mind made his heart jump into his throat. Vash jumped to his feet with a spin and began to charge at the fleeing man. _It can't be… It's not possible._ Vash sprinted in front of the man, blocking his way. He looked into the man's face; his eyes were as brownish-green as the leaves on a dying tree.

An genuine feeling of disappointment flitted through Vash's subconscious as he realized it was _not,_ in fact, the dearly departed Wolfwood. On the outside, however, his eyes bulged and mouth gaped slightly as he stared at the man. His eyes filled with hate as they lowered into a glare. The side of his mouth turned up into a snarl. It was –

Equally stunned, the man whispered, "Vash…"

-------

Well, review! I hope to post the next chapter soon...


	3. Chapter Two : On a Tangent

The dual suns had been crossing the sky since they emerged from the north-eastern skyline, but now the day was drawing to a close. The suns lit up the sky with brilliant pinks and oranges that reflected against the shining sand of the desert. The sky shone so magnificently that in some places, you couldn't tell where the sunsets ended and the sand began.

With a sigh, the young man ended his day of work and eased himself into the rocking chair that sat on his porch.

_Ahhh… That feels so good… _he thought as he settled his body comfortably into the chair. His blue hair, reflecting the brilliance of the sky, gave off a radiant purple aura. He stretched his legs, tucked his hands and arms behind his head and smiled to himself. It had been a long day, but now it was done, and he could relax. His eyes traced the land that stretched out in front of him. It was seemingly endless.

Mostly desert surrounded the ranch, except for a couple other animal farms that were just barely within sight and a small town in the far east. Other farms and bred and slaughtered their livestock for food to eat, and meat to sell, but this particular ranch bred and raised Thomases for aiding labour and transportation. Even as young as 27, the young man had made more than a decent living for himself and his family doing this. That was, up until lately…

A continuous stream of creditors and landlords and lawyers- all strangers- came to his home to talk to him about their family's financial situation. As it turned out, he was deeply in debt. However, he knew he could make it through. He would work hard for his family, and that's just what he was doing.

"Daddeee!!" cried a little girl who ran outside through the screen door to the man's left. She left the screen to slam shut as she bounded toward her father. "Daddy! Can we go see Sammy? Please, please, pretty please?? I promise I'll be careful!" Her hair, blue- like her father's, bounced with her as she leapt into her father's lap.

"Yay!" She wrapped her small arms around her father's neck and kissed him on the cheek.

He returned it, wrapping his own arms around her and lifted her with him as he stood from the chair. He carried her over to the screen door where he hollered, "Gracie! I'm taking Sana to see the Thomases! If you need us, we'll be over by the pen!" and carried his child down the front steps. He twirled around, holding the girl securely, and she giggled.

Sana in arm, he walked around the side of the house and came to a gate. The man put his daughter down beside him and unlatched the gate. It swung open and Sana took her father's hand and pulled him with all her might in the direction of the pen.

"C'mon Daddy! Hurry!" She giggled softly and let go of his hand. She rushed over to the pen and clambered up the chain links. She rested her arms on the top of the fence and peered over the top.

The pen was full of Thomases of all ages. There were old, frail looking Thomases that were going to die of old age quite soon that knelt in the far corner and new-born calves suckling on their mother, and Thomases of all ages between. The man approached the side of the pen and rested his elbows on the ledge, letting his hands dangle in the pen.

As his daughter surveyed the herd, her eyes lit up with glee, reflecting the colours of the setting suns. "Sammeeee!" She called with cupped hands out into the pen. A small Thomas that stood in the corner to her right perked her ears and made her way across the pen to Sana. The girl extended her hand and patted the Thomas on the head and it brayed, turning its head up so she could scratch underneath.

"Oh, Daddy! Baby Thomases are just so cute, aren't they?" She asked as she turned to face her father.

"That they are, Sunshine!" The father and daughter exchanged grins. Sana was so enthused by the Thomases, her father knew she would be a good caretaker for the animals when he died or decided to turn it over.

Another Thomas looked up at the pair from the ground and began sniffing at the man's fingers and hands. It stood there for a moment before commencing to nibble on his fingers. He yanked his hands out of the pen and stuck his index finger into his mouth and grimaced comically. He let out a few "ooh!"s and "ah!"s while jumping around in the sand. Sana hopped down from the fence and took her father's hand from his mouth.

Stroking it, she said with a little laugh, "Oh, you'll be okay!" 

He plunked his finger back into his mouth and shook his head. "Nuh uh," he said and pouted.

"Why not?" Sana asked with another laugh.

"Why not?!" And exasperated look washed over his face. "Why NOT?!" His eyes opened wide and he stared at her. He held his finger a few inches from his daughter's face. "I'll tell you why, lil missy! I'll tell you why!" The man looked from side to side and then narrowed his eyebrows. "Thomas Fever," he whispered. 

"_Thomas Fever?_" She repeated with wide eyes.

He nodded solemnly.

Sana looked over to the Thomas pen and back at her father.

"Yep," he nodded. "Very serious condition in which the sufferer…" he brayed, imitating a Thomas nearly perfectly. "Into a…" He fell onto all fours and brayed again.

"A what??"

"A THOMAS!" 

Sana gasped, "But… that's impossible!" 

"Or so you…" he brayed a third time, "Or so you think!" 

She bent down and looked closely at his blue hair. The light wasn't as bright and he no longer held that violet aura. "But you don't look like a Thomas!"

"Well," he looked up at her. "That's now… Soon, who knows!"

Sana touched his head. "Your hair is still blue, Daddy! Maybe we can still fix you!"

"Well, I don't know." He stroked his chin. "I've heard that once you get a good homemade dinner into you, it'll reverse…" He jumped back to his feet and swept her up into his arms.

She laughed, "Oh Daddy! You're so silly!"

He twirled her around and hoisted her up onto his shoulders. "What makes you think I'm being silly!?"

From inside, Sana's mother called out. "Dinner! C'mon in you guys!!" 

"Ah hah!" he cried. "Now we'll see!"

Sana nodded and giggled, "Giddy-up, Thomas Daddy!"

The pair walked back around to the front door of the house. The man lifted his daughter off his shoulders and placed her on the ground.

"Mummy!!!" She ran into the house and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. "Daddy's gonna turn into a Thomas!!"

"Oh he is, is he? Well, you go get cleaned up for dinner. I'll see what I can do about your father." She replied with a smile.

"Yes, Mummy," she said and ran off to the bathroom.

The man walked into the kitchen, embraced his wife and kissed her lovingly on her lips. He brushed a few strands of blonde hair out of her face and kissed her again, on the cheek. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Legato," she said and again, they became caught up in a passionate kiss. 

"Ewww!!" Sana had returned from the bathroom and was standing in the doorway. "Kissing is gross!"

Legato tore his face away from his love's and stuck out his tongue. "Well, excuuuse me, lil missy!"

Grace smiled and turned around to the counter where their meals sat.

Legato sat down at the dinner table. "So, Grace…What do you have for a poor, old, sick man like me?"

"Yeah, Mum! If he doesn't eat dinner, then he'll turn into a Thomas!

"Oh, will he?" Grace placed their dinner plates in front of them. The meal consisted of roast, potatoes and green beans. "And why is that?"

"Thomas Fever!" Sana said, nodding intently.

Grace looked over at her husband. "Oh, Legato… What are you filling her mind with today?" She said with a smile, looking from her husband to her daughter and back again.

Legato replied, "Oh, she knows how much I like to play around…" He looked to Sana. "Right, Sunshine?"

Sana nodded firmly. "It's a joke, Mummy. Laugh."

Grace looked back and forth between them. "I'm sorry… It's just… I've been so busy with the housework and cooking and cleaning. It doesn't leave too much time for jokes, unfortunately." She shrugged, "But that's what we have your father for, right?" Grace placed her hand on her husband's as Sana nodded cheerily.

"Yes, yes!"

"Well, I'm starved." Legato pointed out. "I'm not sure about you guys but I am!" He picked up his fork and began to eat his potatoes. 

Sana and her mother nodded. They were hungry too.

The clock's hands pointed out that the time was 8 PM when the Bluesummers' finished eating dinner and cleaning up the kitchen and Sana had begun to yawn.

"Mummy, I'm tired…" Sana stretched her arms and scrunched her eyes as she yawned.

Legato pulled her up to his face and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, Sana… don't you ever forget that." The pair smiled at each other. He patted her on the back. "Now go upstairs and get ready for bed, Sunshine."

"I love you too, Daddy!" Sana ran over to her mother and hugged her waist. "Goodnight, Mummy! I love you too _too!_" 

Grace smiled at her daughter and took her by the hand. "C'mon Sana, I'll help you get ready for bed." Leading Sana upstairs, Grace turned around and smiled at her husband.

Legato walked into the living room and plopped onto the couch. He sighed again. This was the first time he'd been able to relax without any interruptions. The cushions were much more comfortable for his back than any chair anyways. Legato stared around at the objects that sat around the room. Some of Sana's toys lay on the floor as well as some dirty clothes that hadn't made it to the laundry yet. He tried not to think of cleaning as work _he _had to do, but he hated the idea of making his wife clean up after him all day, every day.

He stood up once again and walked across the room to where the stray pair of pants sat, all bunched up. He bent over, picked it up and tucked it under his arm. He now stood in the center of the living room, facing the hallway that ran from the kitchen to the front hall. Behind him sat the coffee table and couch, to his left, a piano stood, to his right a book case with various knickknacks placed about it and beside the door in front of him stood a cabinet. 

Legato went over to the pile of toys that sat on the floor in front of the cabinet. He gathered them up and put them in her toy box that sat beside the couch, except for her dolly, which he placed on the cabinet ledge. With the pants still tucked under his arm, he made his way down the hall and into the bathroom where there was a relatively empty hamper. He tossed it in from the doorway and then turned around and started back to the living room.

He plunked back down on the couch and surveyed the room once again. This time, there was no mess to dread cleaning, but a wealth of family portraits to stare at. Legato's eyes wandered from picture to picture until they rested on one of his daughter when she was 4 years old. Sana was wearing a royal-blue dress with white lace. Her long blue hair was curled up in ringlets and she had the most charming smile on her face. Her golden eyes shone as brightly as her father's. 

While Legato's mind was reviewing the past, Grace entered the room wearing a silk nightgown. Legato's eyes met hers and Grace sat down beside him on the couch. He turned his head and caressed her lips with his own. The only thing passing through Legato's mind was how much he loved his wife.  He placed a hand on her side and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too…" She looked up at him with her deep brown eyes, smiling with them in that strange way women do.

Legato looked back at the portrait of his daughter. "She's so beautiful…"

Grace turned her head to see what he was looking at. She saw the picture hanging on the wall. "She is…"

He sighed and looked at Grace. "She reminds me so much of my sister…"

"Well, Sana certainly does resemble your family more than mine."

Legato nodded. "But she has _you_ inside…" He smiled softly at her and held her close. "Petra and I had so much fun together as kids… Sana is so playful like Petra was, too."

Grace breathed deeply and snuggled her husband, nuzzling up to his neck like a cat. It wasn't strange for her to do that, she was a bit odd. But that was okay, because Legato was a little bit odd as well.

"So, what was she like?"

Legato stared at his wife. "Well… There's not a lot I can tell you. I, er… she… Well, she's…gone." Legato paused a moment before continuing. To Grace, it seemed almost contemplative. "She ran away." He said abruptly. There was no need to explain any more than that.

Grace frowned. "That's sad…"

Legato nodded slowly and stared at the portrait of his child. Such beautiful blue hair… She was so beautiful, inside and out. One day, she would make a man very, very happy.

He forced his eyes away from the pictures and to his wife. Her blonde hair glimmered in the light of the lantern that sat on the table. It was dark outside, and it provided the only light in the room. Legato moved his hand from Grace's side and placed it on her breast. She smiled and caressed his chest with her hand, moving it up and down his abdomen as well. 

"Sana's asleep…" Grace whispered with a slightly sultry voice.

Legato smiled at his wife. "Yes, she is." He looked to the ceiling where her bedroom might be. 

Grace's hand reached from his abdomen, down and Legato reached to turn out the lantern.


	4. Chapter Three : A Little Chat

The pair entered the restaurant, one man with a face, white, as if he had seen a ghost, and the second with a face as black as a storm cloud. Vash's nearly enjoyable experience with the radiant suns now was clouded over by anger and confusion.  
  
Fuck... Vash's inner turmoil had returned to him like a shot in the back, and it was all because of the man he now stood beside. Why the fuck is he here?  
  
"I- I..." The man was stammering. Vash pretended not pay him any attention, despite the obvious fact the man was attempting to address him. "Vash?"  
  
He heaved a loud breath and answered heavily, "What?"  
  
"I didn't expect to find you here."  
  
Vash did not answer. His fists began to clench tightly at his sides. The inner furnace, his heart, he supposed, began to bubble with not only extreme annoyance but also mauling anger and shredding sadness.  
  
An internally emotionally unstable Vash and his companion, whose complexion looked like that of a member of the undead, strode over to the service counter.  
  
"Table for two," Vash said dryly.  
  
"Right this way!" Said a young, bouncy waitress, who was far too peppy for Vash's liking. She led them to a corner table, Vash and the man walking slowly behind her. It wasn't so much as the man was slow... perhaps fearful suited his presence more effectively. He seemed to cower at the sight of Vash.  
  
When the pair reached the table, they sat down at opposite ends. The waitress, bubbly and blonde handed them each a menu and began spouting specials the restaurant served on the particular day.  
  
"No... no thanks." Vash shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Just, go..." He waved her off with a subtle hand motion. "We'll choose from the menus, thanks."  
  
The waitress' mouth and eyebrows dipped into a frown for a split second, before perking back up into a strained grin. "No problem," She forced, and walked away.  
  
"So--"  
  
"So--"  
  
The two men stared at each other. They sat in the corner of "Xing's Café" without a single word exchanged for several minutes.  
  
Vash took a white napkin into his hands and began to fiddle with it uncomfortably.  
  
The man across from him smiled weakly for a moment, but let his face return to the expressionless appearance it almost always took. "I didn't think I would run into you around here. It's... been only a month, but..." His voice trailed off.  
  
"But it seems like - like forever, right? Almost like it didn't happen, huh? Guess what?" Vash muttered back. "It did happen, and I'll have to live with that fact forever."  
  
The man began to speak, but cut himself off. Instead, he said, "How have you been doing?" As he posed this question, the man with the deep green eyes reached a cleanly scrubbed hand towards the salt shaker that sat on the table to his left. He seized it between his thumb and middle finger and held it in front of him. He rocked it back and forth between his fingers.  
  
Vash stopped fidgeting and looked up as his tablemate. A dark look flooded over his face. "Take a guess," he spat.  
  
His tablemate frowned. "That's no way to talk to a friend, Vash. I thought we were friends!"  
  
A look of incredulity wiped away the ocean. "Friends? Friends, Jacob?" Vash's mouth curled in disgust. "You... you made me lose her! I'd never call you a friend! You're a coward!! You're a fucking coward! You stood there! JUST STOOD THERE!" Vash bounded out of his chair and slammed his fists on the table. "You watched her DIE and you DARE TO CALL YOURSELF A FRIEND?"  
  
Several people sitting around them gasped at the sudden shouts and the strong language.  
  
Jacob stared back at him with wide eyes. "I--I-- " he stammered, gripping the salt shaker in his palm tightly. "It's not my fault! I couldn't do anything! I was helpless!"  
  
"Jacob? You were standing right there! You could have reached out and touched her, you were so close... and what did you do? What the FUCK did you do, Jacob?" Vash's wild blonde hair flew as he moved. He had not bothered to do anything with it in weeks.  
  
Across the table, Jacob's grip loosened on the shaker and stared at it while it sat in his palm. "I didn't do anything..." he said, "I couldn't..."  
  
"Fuck you, you couldn't!" Vash stared at him, "You were just standing there..."  
  
"It's not my fault, Vash." Jacob could not raise his eyes to meet Vash's.  
  
Vash's breath began to shorten as two tiny beads of tears escaped from his eyes. "But you didn't do anything to help..."  
  
"I was afraid, Vash..." he breathed. Jacob bolted himself to his seat, watching Vash with huge green eyes.  
  
"You were afraid? Damn it, Jacob! You were afraid? You have never been afraid," he spat, "Until you see eyes of the person you loved with all your heart, roll up into their head."  
  
"Vash. Please," His voice had quieted to a near whisper.  
  
Vash sat back down in his chair. "Do you know what the last thing she saw before she died was?"  
  
Jacob remained silent.  
  
"It was her love getting shot and tossed around like a child's toy. It was her love being crushed underneath a boulder."  
  
"It's not my fault... It's not your fault either. Knives is the only person to blame here. There was nothing you could do." He said quietly.  
  
"No- of course I couldn't. But you could have..." Vash said. Over the last few minutes, his voice had lowered and he was now staring at Jacob with tired eyes. "You don't know what it feels like to be trapped, helpless."  
  
Jacob opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He tried to talk, but all he could do was emit a short, defeated sigh. He placed the saltshaker back on the table and finally looked Vash in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about this. About Meryl, about Knives. About me. There's no other way I can say this, other than 'I'm sorry.' It's not enough for you, I know, but it's all I can do. It's all I can say."  
  
Vash's eyes had dulled into dreary, grey masses. He stared into Jacob's and said, "Do you think that I could forgive you?" His head drooped to the right.  
  
"I don't know." He replied, "One would hope so."  
  
Vash sighed. "I don't even know. I've changed inside, Jacob. Forgiveness is something I've found hard to give during this last month of my life. I don't even know if I can anymore. I've changed so much from what I used to be that I am honestly terrified to look in the mirror. I don't want to see what I've become or will become." Vash blinked and looked at Jacob. "To be quite honest with you, there's not much keeping me from standing up and shooting you in the head." The words of that statement poured from his mouth in a decrescendo.  
  
Jacob's eyes widened as a tiny gasp escaped his mouth. He slid back from the table in his chair. "Vash..."  
  
"I wouldn't dare, though," he said in an offhand tone, "Not only do I not have a gun here, but this room is filled with good, innocent, hardworking people- save us, of course- and I would rather not take the chance of hurting a single one of them."  
  
Jacob began to tremble as he looked into Vash's face. He spoke so casually of murder, it frightened him. "Killing me would make you no better than Knives."  
  
Vash glared at him. "I'm not going to kill you, Jacob."  
  
"You just-you just said you would!"  
  
"No, I didn't," he said bluntly. "I said there wasn't much keeping me from it."  
  
Jacob shifted his weight in the chair. Vash was a dangerous man, and Jacob knew it. He was probably the most dangerous man on the planet, actually. The thought of death by his hand frightened him more than anything. This was for two reasons: one, because he had heard the stories of Vash's past and two, because the Vash he thought he knew would never stoop that low. Generally speaking, of course. A man can always make exceptions. This was also true of Vash.  
  
A story Jacob once heard told of a red-caped fiend whose merciless and soulless killing was matched by no man. This man's name was Gash, or at least it was in most retellings of the events - others had no name for this monster. Gash, he had been told, because he would leave a massive slash from the victim's naval to their throat. The murders had been particularly gruesome and disturbing, but what really perturbed people, was the fact that there was a bullet hole between the eyes. To the people, this meant either that a) 'Gash' had gutted them alive, then shot the victim to put it out of its misery, or b) that he gutted the victim after he took their life.  
  
Needless to say, people preferred to believe it was the latter. Well, at least, they wanted to. They wanted to, yes, but no one did. The bizarre acts of murder were just too sickening to have been done by someone who wanted to end a life as painlessly as possible.  
  
It just didn't make sense.  
  
And then the murders stopped. All in all, there had been 13 lives taken by the maniac known as 'Gash'. No one really knew what happened to him. He just disappeared, and that was all. There were many people who believed that it was Vash the Stampede acting under an alias, a very stupid and uncreative alias.  
  
Surely, Jacob thought as he sat uncomfortably under the low stare of Vash, there is no truth to the story. And surely, even if it were true, there is no way this red-coated outlaw could be the same as a red-caped fiend. Surely. Even if their names are the same, if not for one letter. Surely.  
  
"You're too quiet," Vash grumbled. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
"Nothing," Jacob replied nervously. Jacob's heart began to race as Vash's question sank into him. He remembered a second story that he had been told long ago.  
  
"Nothing at all... I see."  
  
Someone had told him, once, about a tall, blond man. This man was a very special man, in that he was said to have 'psychic powers,' - said to be not of this world. One day, this tall, blond man came across a town whose Plant had been acting up for several days. No one knew why. This tall blond man stood in the center of the town, raised his right hand to the sky and cried out, "It shall be the last day. In the hours of next, might the great tower shatter, a white light will engulf you. If you wish salvation, flee!"  
  
His bizarre words disturbed the people of the town. Many people ran away, fearing death. Others stayed in their homes, foolishly thinking that their houses might be of some protection. Most, however, lived their lives as usual, believing that the man was insane. The tall, blond man smiled at the children and walked toward the Plant.  
  
Seconds later, an explosion of white light came from the Plant and tore over the landscape, killing hundreds.  
  
The tension between Vash and Jacob at this time was excruciating. Jacob couldn't look up from the table knowing that, certainly, Vash fixed his stare upon him. Jacob fidgeted under his eye until he collected enough courage to look up. With a short glance, he found Vash's eyes surveying the room, and not on him. He breathed a small sigh of relief.  
  
The sound of a soft voiced man broke the silence. "Excuse me... Sirs?"  
  
Vash whipped his neck around to face the man. He was a man in black with a white cloth draped over his forearm; he was a waiter. "Yes?" he said.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said the waiter in a nervous tone.  
  
Vash stood up and faced the waiter, who Vash stood several inches above. "Is that so?"  
  
The waiter nodded, staring up at Vash.  
  
"We haven't even gotten to order!" he said, "I expect that we have nothing to pay... am I right?" Vash glared down at him.  
  
"Yes, that's correct. Now, if you'll follow me..."  
  
Vash motioned for Jacob to stand and the pair followed the waiter to the front foyer of the café. Jacob remained silent as they were marched out of the establishment. 


End file.
